


molten

by YouAreMyDesign



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Begging, Blood Drinking, Blood and Injury, Blow Jobs, Bottom Hannibal Lecter, Bottom Will Graham, Cannibalism Play, Come Marking, Come Swallowing, Dark Will Graham, Established Relationship, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, Isolation, Knifeplay, M/M, Restraints, Rough Oral Sex, Sadism, Starvation, Top Hannibal Lecter, Top Will Graham, Vore, Will Graham Knows, Will Graham is a Cannibal, consensual vore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-06 16:09:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18854482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouAreMyDesign/pseuds/YouAreMyDesign
Summary: "You don't have to starve," he whispers, and thumbs over Hannibal's red cheek. "But I guess that's up to you."





	molten

Will opens the heavy door, grunting with effort, revealing a cold, small stone cell. Inside it, Hannibal stirs, blinking up at him and wincing at the flood of sudden light. He ducks his head, lifts a manacled hand, chains clinking and cuff sliding down his forearm, which is now the skinniest Will has ever seen it.

He enters the room, kneels down and cups Hannibal's face, forcing him to meet Will's eyes. Hannibal can't even hold his gaze – it's a telling sign of his fortitude, the fracturing base of cement and steel that is his self-control.

He rubs his thumb beneath Hannibal's upper lip, pushes at it to reveal his teeth, and Hannibal shudders, closes his eyes, and lets out a weak, broken-sounding noise.

"Will," he breathes, like he didn't even realize who was touching him until Will forced him to show his teeth. He trembles, weak, his bare flesh shivering and twitching as Will eyes him. "Please, darling."

"You're losing a lot of weight," Will murmurs, and the concern in his voice is genuine. "You need to eat."

Hannibal shakes his head again.

"This hunger strike of yours is unnecessary, Hannibal. I'm willing – I've always been willing."

Hannibal shakes his head a third time, more vehemently, though it seems that the energy to do so drives him to sag, weak, on his knees, his hands falling to rest against his bare, skinny thighs. Hannibal has always been so strong, thick with muscle, and now he looks little better than a ghost.

Sweat and dirt clings to him, crusted on his skin, his hair flat and limp with grease. He looks terrible, smells worse, and Will doesn't know what to call the emotion that rises up in him, but anger might be the most suitable – outrage, that someone as strong as Hannibal could be brought so low, even if he's the one who did it.

"Why won't you?" he demands, and Hannibal looks at him. Will cups his face tenderly, his throat tight with anguish, his eyes wet. "Please. Please, let me feed you. I know you've thought about it – I know you want it. Why won't you let me?"

"I have done too much to you, to hurt you now," Hannibal replies. His voice is rough, hoarse, and he coughs, his ribs standing out starkly as he raises a hand to stifle the sound. He's not sick, but without food and with barely any water, his innards are dry. Will can taste it like sand in his mouth.

"Even if I want it," Will murmurs.

Hannibal nods, and Will stands with a snarl. "You're so fucking _proud_ ," he hisses. "What will it take to get you to give me what I want?"

Hannibal doesn't answer, and yes, this is anger, now. Will sees red, and crouches down, unfastening the manacles and letting them fall. He hauls Hannibal to his feet and slams him against the rough stone wall.

"Have it your way, then," he hisses, and shoves Hannibal to his knees, grips his dirty hair tightly. Hannibal groans, wincing when his knees hit the hard floor, and Will pushes his sweatpants down to his thighs, taking his cock out and stroking it to hardness.

He jerks on Hannibal's hair, just enough to get his lips to part in a pained gasp, and forces his cock between his teeth. Hannibal moans, eyes closing, and tilts his head, sucking ravenously at Will's cock. Will knows he won't bite, he wouldn't want to _hurt_ him, but God, the thought of it – that Hannibal is so weak with hunger he might just take it, it sets something off in him that turns the red in his vision black.

He fucks in harshly, uncaring for the abuse Hannibal's throat is taking. He doesn't stop when Hannibal gags, when he chokes, when Will presses so deep he can't breathe and his chest stutters from lack of oxygen. He holds himself there, grinning when Hannibal shows his teeth and opens his eyes, meeting Will's.

"Go on, baby," he purrs, and strokes Hannibal's hollow cheek. Hannibal snarls, clogged and choking, but does not bite.

Will huffs. "Have it your way," he says again, and resumes his pace, bruising Hannibal's soft throat and soaking his cock in Hannibal's wet mouth. _God_ , he feels good, Will can tell that the hunger in him is making him ache for it – anything, anything to soothe the desperate emptiness in his stomach.

He pulls out, and hauls Hannibal upright, turns him and shoves him face-first to the wall. Spit is all Hannibal gets as Will forces his way inside him, makes Hannibal's rim part and accept him, and Hannibal stiffens, snarling, his eyes closed and face contorted in a pained grimace as Will fucks him.

"I know this isn't what you really want," he breathes, sweating and panting now, clawing at the jut of Hannibal's hipbones, his sunken belly, the sharp rise of his ribs. He digs in with his nails, until they split the upper layer of skin, until there are red lines all over Hannibal's stomach. "Maybe if you ask me real nice, I'll come in your mouth. You can eat that."

Whatever pride Hannibal still clings onto clearly doesn't extend to this, because he nods, frantically, and gasps, "Please, Will."

Will snarls, and pulls out, admiring the bruised blush-red of Hannibal's rim, the way it gapes for just a moment around nothing. He strokes himself quickly, fists Hannibal's hair, ruts between his legs.

"Beg."

"Please," Hannibal says again, clawing at the wall. "Please, _please_ , Will."

"Good boy," Will growls, and turns Hannibal by his hair, sending him to his knees again with a sharp thud. He forces his cock back into Hannibal's mouth with a grunt, closes his eyes, tips his head back, and comes down Hannibal's throat with a snarl.

Hannibal sucks on him greedily, hands around Will's thighs to stop him pulling away, and Will clings to him, bows his head forward so his forehead rests against the wall, and sighs. His anger is tempered by his orgasm, turned to galvanized steel instead of molten metal. But it is still there – brittle and holding.

He pulls back when he's finished, admiring the fullness of Hannibal's bruised lips, drinks in the sound of him coughing and swallowing desperately.

He takes Hannibal's chin in hand, and makes him lift his head. "You don't have to starve," he whispers, and thumbs over Hannibal's red cheek. "But I guess that's up to you."

He fastens the chains again and leaves without another word. Hannibal is silent, throughout, and in that silence, Will feels a monster stirring.

 

 

Hannibal comes for him in the night. He's lost enough weight that he can slip free of his bonds. Will wakes to Hannibal lunging for him, pinning him down in their bed, and shivers at the press of a sharp knife to his throat.

"Cruel boy," Hannibal snarls, and though he is weak from hunger, adrenaline makes him strong – the anticipation of a kill, the hunt, brings out the monster in him. Will growls and parts his thighs as Hannibal shoves them open, keeps a hand on Will's throat and kneels between his legs. Will blinks up at him, prone and helpless on his back, and moans when Hannibal's knife settles on one of his thighs.

"Is this what you want?"

Will nods. Sucks in a breath.

Hannibal does not hesitate – he cuts, on the outside, away from the vulnerable artery. A semi-circle that pools with blood, and he lowers his mouth to it, licks at Will's thigh and drinks him down with an obscene groan.

Will sighs, shivering, and smiles, palming Hannibal's dirty hair. "That's it, baby. Take it."

Hannibal snarls, and shows his teeth, and bites through the cut he made, opening it until it will undoubtedly scar. His lower jaw fits to Will's leg, where the muscle is strongest and most unyielding. He bites, bites down, locks his jaw as Will tenses and whines. Doesn't hesitate – he has fangs and claws now, and he digs the knife beneath his lower lip to ease the way for his teeth.

Will's flesh does not part easily. He feels every second of it, every inch as Hannibal's slowly, so slowly, a torture all its own, brings his teeth together. He swallows Will raw, uncooked, pure, and flattens his mouth wide over the wound, sucking the fresh blood as it pools and flows out.

"Oh God," Will breathes, pain bringing tears to his eyes – but as well as that, relief. Gratitude. He gentles his touch on Hannibal's head, strokes down his nape. "Thank you, baby. That's it – good boy. You want more?"

Hannibal snarls, and bites again, half-way into the first wound, devouring another piece. Will shudders, body twitching and flushing as his heart races. He might be going into shock, but that doesn't matter – Hannibal is here, he'll take care of Will when he's done.

He palms his stomach, where the old scar is, and sobs as Hannibal takes another bite.

" _Yes_ ," Will hisses, and arches his leg up into his lover's hands, cries out when Hannibal drops the knife and cradles his shaking thigh, drags his mouth wet and bloody over the wound. Hannibal is shivering as well, trembling as hard as Will, and kisses the raw, open muscle that is torn and bared from his mouth.

Will spreads his legs wider, sits up and tugs on him.

"Now give it back," he demands.

Hannibal surges over him, kissing him with blood and flesh in his mouth – Will's blood, Will's flesh, and just as his tongue slides into Will's mouth, he wets his cock with blood and fucks between Will's thighs, forcing him open. His hand flattens over the bites on his thigh and Will howls, broken open and raw and ready for his mate.

It burns when Hannibal mounts him, forcing Will to part and make room for his cock like Will's body made room for his teeth. Will claws at him, reckless and helpless and utterly satisfied, arches against Hannibal and digs his nails into Hannibal's ass, forcing his thrusts as hard and deep as they can manage.

He's lightheaded, dizzying and spiraling out of control, and screams when Hannibal bites his shoulder, deep enough to welt, then further, to pierce skin and flesh and take his mouthful there, too. "Oh, God, _fuck_ , yes – Hannibal, again, do it again."

Hannibal does, taking another bite from Will, closer to his neck. He's smart enough not to threaten the arteries, careful enough that it won't injure Will beyond repair, but _God_ , it's good, it hurts and it _hurts_ and it's so fucking _good_.

Will's eyes burn with tears, his body reacting to the pain, his mind alight with relief and love. He tugs on Hannibal's hair and kisses him harshly, shivering as Hannibal snarls, presses deep, goes still.

He pulls out, stroking himself, and comes over the scar on Will's belly. Will's breath catches, his eyes wide. He can see Hannibal's eyes – see his gaze flash, his head tilt, as he admires the sheen of his come on Will's scarred stomach.

He looks to the knife.

"You can," Will whispers, and touches his hands. Cradles them both, bloody and warm, to his stomach. "Do you want to?"

"Yes," Hannibal growls. His fingers flex between Will's. "But not tonight."

Will accepts that. His thigh and his shoulder burn terribly, he's weak with blood loss, shivering beneath Hannibal's weight. Still, he arches up, and claims a kiss that tastes of his own flesh, and moans when Hannibal cups his nape, helps him stay upright as he pulls back and brings Will to a sitting position.

"Let me bind these," Hannibal whispers. Before, he was Sahara and starvation, and now he is the Amazon, he is life, teeming and flooded and so fucking beautiful Will could weep. "Can you stand?"

Will nods, and immediately proves himself a liar when he stumbles, unable to hold his weight on his injured thigh. Hannibal is, realistically, in no condition to help him, but he bears Will's weight readily, and sighs against Will's bloody neck.

"Will." He wants to say so many things, Will can tell – feel it on the tip of Hannibal's tongue when he licks at the raw, open wound on Will's shoulder.

Will sighs, and nuzzles him gently. "Later," he whispers. Hannibal nods, and helps him towards the bath. He will bathe Will, and then himself, and bind his wounds, and when Will wakes again there will likely be a feast for them both – the product of a good hunt. Will has been letting Hannibal starve, but he is still a good mate, and will provide.

"I don't like seeing you suffer," he murmurs, as Hannibal lays him down in the bath and begins to fill it. Hannibal smiles, and climbs in behind him, the tub large enough to easily fit them both as the water rises. Will sighs, and relaxes against Hannibal's chest, pleased to find that his shaking has stopped, and he seems much more like himself.

"Nor do I enjoy your suffering, darling," Hannibal replies. "Forgive me – I was blind, not to see how much you ached for this."

Will sighs. He tilts his head back, cups Hannibal's red jaw, and kisses him. "Just stop pretending you know what's best for me," he murmurs. "Give me what I want. Whenever I want it."

Hannibal huffs, his eyes bright with amusement, affection. With love. "Of course, my love. I am yours to command."


End file.
